


For Want Of A Scone

by ineffablefool



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (a main focus! this fic does not exist without Aziraphale being round and lovely!), (not that calling him fat is automatically a slight because neutral descriptor, Aggressively Spiteful Fat Positivity, Asexual Relationship, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley will Absolutely Not Stand for anyone daring to slight his beautiful angel, First Kiss, I had fun writing this and I hope it is fun to read, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), No Sex, No Smut, Other, Post-Canon, a little bit of ableist language too, and some fatphobia from a no-name character who does not end up having a good day, but use it negatively when Crowley can hear and Watch Out), got some eff bombs and other words so T rating for that, not quite a love confession but they both know what's going on by the end honest, the very lightest pining/angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 22:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20104555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool
Summary: Crowley decided to drive over to the bookshop shortly after ten in the morning, because he hadn't seen the angel for almost twelve hours, which was at least eleven and a half hours too long.  Great stuff, this whole "radio silence from Home Office" gig.  No more distractions.  No more hiding.  Just him and the really important things in his life.  (The Really Important Things In Crowley's Life were as follows: 1. Aziraphale.  End list.)(I crave an infinity of "Aziraphale's body is perfect no matter what it looks like and Crowley loves him unconditionally" romantic asexual fics. So I've written three, now.  This one is less soft than the first two, and more about spite, but I promise there is still tenderness.)





	For Want Of A Scone

**Author's Note:**

> I continue to need more fat acceptance up in here, but unlike my first two fics on AO3, this is less about soft gentle romanticness and more about spite. Well-deserved spite. Big spite fan, me. Still a big soft gentle romanticness fan too, though, so it's still here too, just layered in amongst the spite. Features an Aziraphale who couldn't care less about what others think of his corporation (slight canon divergence re the Gabriel jogging scene in Episode 4? re-evaluation of personal priorities after going through the actual end of the world? you decide!), and a Crowley who is more than ready to go on the spitefulness warpath to defend his beautiful angel the millisecond it seems needed.
> 
> **Please be aware** that both Crowley and Aziraphale refer to Aziraphale as "fat" in this story, but neither considers it to be an insult (Crowley's problem is that _someone else_ used it as an insult). Aziraphale explicitly considers it a neutral descriptor, and Crowley, well. After six thousand years, Crowley probably thinks that "three inches shorter than me" is a compliment, if you get what I'm saying here. But I understand that this is a no-go for some people -- Author Is Fat, and also considers it to be a neutral descriptor (tinged with my by-now-well-documented attraction to fat people!), but not everyone is able to do that. Please keep yourselves safe!
> 
> I'm writing for the TV characterization, but I've decided that my written Aziraphale's body is shaped like how Tumblr user speremint draws him ([1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([2](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186227834150/i-just-need-more-chonky-aziraphale-will)) ([3](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186401300745/only-one-1-person-asked-me-my-opinions-on-a-role) and [4](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my) from her Reversed Omens AU), because I much prefer to imagine that as I work. Please also imagine that as you read!

Crowley decided to drive over to the bookshop shortly after ten in the morning, because he hadn't seen the angel for almost twelve hours, which was at least eleven and a half hours too long. Great stuff, this whole "radio silence from Home Office" gig. No more distractions. No more hiding. Just him and the really important things in his life.

(The Really Important Things In Crowley's Life were as follows: 1. Aziraphale. End list.)

When he got out of the car, the shop was locked, the sign flipped around to Closed. He went in anyway. Aziraphale's going-out coat was missing from its spot by the door, which confirmed what Crowley had already sensed: no soft ethereal presence in the building. No round little angel coming into view to greet him with a smile. He made his way to the back room and flopped on the couch, determined to be patient.

Eight minutes and forty-seven endless seconds later, the door opened again. "Are you in here, Crowley?"

"In back, yeah." 

"Ugh!" The exclamation sent Crowley's eyebrows skyward, but Aziraphale continued, gradually louder as he moved across the shop floor. "Really, I wish I'd known you were coming. I would have waited for you rather than going out, and then perhaps I mightn't have — _ugh_!" He appeared in the doorway, straightening the lapels of his tweed shop jacket. "Well, I mightn't have had to deal with all _that_, I can tell you."

Crowley's eyes narrowed. Aziraphale was plainly annoyed with someone, and on the one hand, at least it wasn't him; on the other, the peeved expression on that beautiful pudgy face kind of made him want a few words with the responsible party. Only Crowley got to piss off the angel, and even then only enough to be fun. Anyone else was asking to be cursed.

But all that was behind the dark glasses, where he kept all the really important things he felt regarding Aziraphale. Outwardly, he just lounged a little harder. "Problem, angel?"

"Oh, nothing. Just the most _intolerably_ rude experience." Aziraphale wandered over to his desk, picking up his reading glasses, setting them down again. "I was peckish, so I thought I'd walk over to the bakery two streets over, you know, the one run by that lovely German woman..."

Crowley waved a hand. _Sure, sure. German. Lovely._

"She'd mentioned the other day that her nephew would be helping out around the place, and I suppose he was the young fellow behind the counter just now. All I did was order a scone, she does make _lovely_ scones, with just the right amount of currants, and sometimes she throws in just a bit of —"

"What _happened_, Aziraphale."

The angel paused for a moment. "Oh. Yes. Well, I walked up to the counter, and I attempted to order a scone, and the young fellow _refused_!"

"Huh." Crowley pondered going two blocks over, later, and raising a little targeted Hell. "Why'd he do that, then?"

"He told me I ‘didn't need the calories'!"

The expression of utter consternation on Aziraphale's face would, ordinarily, have been hilarious. This time, though, it was ruined by the drop in Crowley's stomach. By the sudden burning in his chest. With an effort of will that sent his blood rushing through his ears, he somehow did _not_ grind his teeth.

"He. Said. _What_?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I know! As if it was any of his business whatsoever!"

"Wh." Crowley flung himself to a sitting position, shoes thudding against the floor. "He was calling you _fat_, angel."

"Hm? And?" Aziraphale gave him a look like he'd suggested selling a couple of first editions: _goodness me, have you lost your demonic mind?_ "He may as well call me _bipedal_, Crowley, it would be the same. The appearance of my corporation hardly gives him control over my food choices." Then he frowned. "'Called me fat', really, why would _that_ matter? There's no harm in the truth!"

Now Crowley did grind his teeth, just a little. Because yes, okay, it was true, not exactly a secret, was it, anyone looking at Aziraphale would see the plump cheeks and the double chin and the wide chest and the soft rounded belly that Crowley had been dying to get his arms around for six thousand and twenty-something years. Crowley would happily spend the rest of eternity calling Aziraphale fat, and bipedal too, why not, and ridiculous and gorgeous and everything else he obviously was, if only because it meant they'd be together for all of eternity for him to do it.

But.

But... this fucking _nephew_ had meant the comment as an _insult_.

Against _Aziraphale_.

Who sighed now, looking forlorn.

"Such a disappointment, really," he added. "I was so looking forward to that scone."

Right, then.

Crowley jumped up from the couch with so much force that it almost toppled backward. "Oh, you're getting your scone. You're getting all the scones in the _world_." He settled his dark glasses more firmly on his face. "Get your coat, Aziraphale. We're going out."

* * *

When they'd almost reached the offending business, Crowley held up one hand. "Okay, here's the plan."

"Plan? Crowley, why can't we just go out for _lunch_ like _normal_ people?"

"Because I've taken an _interest_ in the _well-being_ of this so-called _nephew_."

Aziraphale tsked. "Crowley."

"Look, the plan is, uh..." He trailed off. Plan. Probably should have come up with one of those on the way over. "Just follow my lead."

Before the angel could respond, Crowley stepped over to the bakery door, yanked it open, and marched inside.

"You," he declared, stopping in front of the counter and glaring at the arsehole on the other side. "Gimme a scone. No, two. And one of them, them," gesturing vaguely at something with strawberries on it, "cake things."

The arsehole _nephew_ gave him a look, but opened the case obediently. "For here or to go?" he asked, just as the door jingled behind Crowley.

Crowley looked around, saw the tables over by the window, and began to grin. "Right here. Just put ‘em on a plate. You got coffee?"

Aziraphale was behind him now. He could feel his presence, a gently shining beacon of ethereal huggability. The grin sharpened. This was a good plan. _Excellent_ plan.

"Yeah," the arsehole replied, shooting a dirty look past Crowley, and oh _yes_, Crowley was going to enjoy paying him back for that.

"One black. One with cream, three sugars."

And then Crowley turned, shifted, so he and Aziraphale were close enough to touch.

He slipped one arm extremely smoothly around the angel's broad waist, and congratulated himself for not melting into a puddle of demon goo at the sensation. "Want anything else, angel?"

Voice even. Grin taken down a few notches, no fangs but still some flirtatious bite. He thought about giving Aziraphale's side a squeeze, but decided it would almost certainly discorporate him to try it.

_Follow my lead, okay, angel, this is definitely just a demon thing I'm playing at here and absolutely not something I've wanted to do since Eden but I'm going to look like an idiot if you don't _follow my lead...

Aziraphale goggled at him for a moment, then seemed to catch on. "N-no," he said. "No, ah, that's it."

The arsehole nephew looked like he didn't want to hand the pastries over, but Crowley had long arms. He handed the plate to Aziraphale, who looked at it with mild confusion.

"Coffees," Crowley said again, glaring at the arsehole. "One black. One with cream, three sugars."

The arsehole slapped the coffees together, then rang everything up, looking the entire time like he had something nasty to say. Crowley gave him another razor-edged grin as he handed over a credit card, though, and that seemed to put a little fear of Someone into him.

He did not let go of Aziraphale through the entire transaction. When they walked over to one of the tables, he juggled both coffees in his free hand, letting Aziraphale hang on to the food.

Only when it was time to sit down did he retrieve his arm, and he could swear it howled soundlessly at the loss.

"Crowley, what —" Aziraphale cut his eyes to the counter, then lowered his voice. "What on _earth_ are you doing?"

"Getting you your scone. Couple of them, actually. And a little cake... thing."

"Donauwelle," Aziraphale corrected. "The owner makes it with strawberries. Unusual, but quite lovely, I think..."

"Donna Whatsits. Sure." Crowley dragged his chair closer to Aziraphale's. "Look, knobhead over there was going to stop you from enjoying something you wanted, right?"

"I suppose..."

"Joke's on him. You get to enjoy it, and he gets to know he failed."

Aziraphale looked down at the table, then back at Crowley. "You seem rather invested in this."

"It's, y'know. Demon stuff. Spreading foment." Crowley sipped his coffee, wishing he hadn't sat with his back to the counter so he could glare over the rim at the arsehole nephew. "Stage one, anyway. I've got a few more ideas yet."

"All over a _scone_?"

"He meant to _insult_ you." Crowley tapped one finger against the table for emphasis. "No harm in the truth, you said, sure. You're bloody perfect how you are, you'd be perfect _no matter what_, actually, and bugger anyone who says otherwise. But there was _intent_ there, okay, there was _malicious intent_; trust me, I know malice, I can smell these things a mile off." He took a swig of coffee. "So yeah, fomenting. You think I'm going to go all the way to Heaven for my best friend and then not take his side against one arsehole _human_?"

Aziraphale was goggling again, a little. Crowley reviewed. Harm, truth, malicious intent, best friend, arsehole. Yeah, that was right. The angel was still goggling, though, and turning noticeably pink.

"Aziraphale? You okay?"

"Oh! Yes." He shook himself a little, then picked up his coffee in both hands. "Yes, perfectly fine, thank you."

"Eat your scone, angel."

Aziraphale looked down at the plate again, and his cheeks went even pinker, which was so unfairly adorable that Crowley very nearly called him out on it. "The thing is," Aziraphale informed the plate, "they're really best eaten with a bit of clotted cream..."

Crowley's stomach did its familiar swoop as the angel lifted his head to fix him with an imploring look. Those shining eyes! Those round cheeks! Somebody's sake, why wasn't _Aziraphale_ the tempter, he'd have civilizations at his feet by _lunchtime_!

"All right, fine," he grumbled, standing up. "What, do I ask the pillock at the counter?"

Aziraphale nodded, beaming. "Thank you _so_ much." Then, as Crowley stalked off: "Oh! And perhaps jam, as well?"

The arsehole nephew watched him warily as he approached.

"Jam. Clotted cream." He leaned threateningly. "Don't bloody _skimp_, either. I know what _your_ problem is, and I think you'll find things very unpleasant if it should become _my_ problem."

He returned to the table with enough jam that even Aziraphale was impressed.

For the next few minutes, Crowley forgot all about his current and planned vendetta. He was right back there again, the same place he'd spent so many hours over the centuries that he couldn't even begin to count them: sitting to Aziraphale's left, yearning quietly toward him, and watching him be happy. Every delicate bite seemed like another spark of joy for him, every mouthful a reason to smile.

It made Crowley want to kiss him. Granted, everything about Aziraphale made Crowley want to kiss him, along with several things that had nothing to do with Aziraphale at all. Real shame the angel didn't love him, then. Bit of a sixty-century-long drag. He tended to think about it as little as demonically possible, other than when he was coming up with stupid little two-birds-one-stone plans to try to suss out whether Aziraphale _could_ love him, possibly, maybe.

He didn't currently have his arms full of gorgeous angel, even after that fairly major display of affection, so presumably that was a no. Which still left the other half of the plan, anyway, so: back to his vendetta against the arsehole behind the counter. Stage one now, since he'd kind of committed himself at this point. Stages two through some arbitrarily large number later on.

Aziraphale finished off one scone, then the other. At last he sighed, and dabbed his lips with a paper napkin, and wiggled just enough that only an extremely observant demon would notice. "That was delightful. Thank you, Crowley."

"Ohh. Not going to finish?" Crowley nudged the plate toward him. "Still got that little cake thing."

"_Donauwelle_." Aziraphale reached out one hand as he spoke, ready to push the plate back. "And I appreciate the thought, but I —"

Crowley covered the angel's hand with his own.

"Follow my lead, ‘member?" His voice was dangerously close to shaking, and he didn't know whether he was talking to Aziraphale (eyes wide, face gone pink again), or his own heart (pounding right out through his poor bruised ribs). "All part of the plan."

Somehow, perhaps miraculously, Aziraphale didn't pull his hand away. It was warm beneath Crowley's own, warm and plump and soft; soft like that incredible body and that heartstopping face and those _eyes_, looking up at him now, Aziraphale's tender lips parting, sweet voice coming out barely a murmur —

"I'm not quite sure how this counts as fomenting."

Crowley made a few sounds. Made the mistake of _squeezing_ Aziraphale's hand, just a little, and something in the angel's eyes jolted him into an answer. "Jealousy! Envy. Oooh, yeah. Big, big sins, there. One of the big seven! Or two. Does it count as two different sins? Or is it just two words for the same thing?"

Aziraphale's eyes were still doing the thing, and Crowley's stomach responded by getting on a very tall, very fast elevator without him.

"Not important. Anyway! The rotten bastard over there is probably fuming with envy right now. ‘Look at those two fellow humans over there, in lo — in — _positively soppy_ over each other, oh, I wish I had that, so sad I don't.' Then he goes home tonight and cries."

The angel's lips curled into a smile. "So you are..." His eyes crinkled, brighter than any of the stars Crowley had worked on. "To be quite clear, you are, ah, _pretending_ to have romantic feelings for me..."

Crowley sucked in a quiet breath.

"...to make the fellow behind the counter jealous?"

"Yup. Absolutely. Tickety-boo, got it in one."

Aziraphale leaned toward him, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's on his _phone_, Crowley."

"He what." Crowley turned around, and behind him the arsehole nephew was leaning against a wall, not even looking their way. Tapping away at his phone with an expression of utter boredom. In which case there was no point to any of this, _both_ halves of the plan were shot, and —

A warm weight settled on Crowley's hand.

He turned back, very, very slowly, because that was _definitely_ not what he thought it was, and the longer he took to confirm the fact, the longer he could pretend that —

Aziraphale's other hand was now on his.

Crowley checked again, from the table up. Aziraphale's hand. Crowley's. Aziraphale's again.

The bottom hand turned over, fingers twining into his own.

"Glcht."

"Perhaps your little foment would work better if I played along, hm? Follow your lead, you said?"

Crowley looked up, very carefully keeping the movement to his eyes, safe behind his glasses, and — oh fuck. Oh _fuck_, Aziraphale was _smirking_ at him now, he knew _exactly_ what Crowley had actually been doing, and he — didn't _mind_?

"Wha, uh, oh," Crowley mumbled, swiping at his hair with the hand that wasn't currently being held by the most perfect creature in existence. "Well, what did you... have in mind?"

Aziraphale made a little _hmm_ sound. "Let me think."

The angel's hand atop Crowley's squeezed, then lifted. Moved to the cake thing and plucked a strawberry from on top. Crowley held on with grim effort against a little noise in his throat as Aziraphale leaned close, holding the strawberry up to Crowley's clench-jawed mouth.

"First, do try a strawberry. The owner grows them herself."

Crowley's brain turned on the autopilot to go out back for a bit of a scream. His mouth dropped open, and then there was a strawberry in it, sweet and a little tart. He chewed. Swallowed. Brain came back in, just long enough for him to say, "I—"

And then Aziraphale's lips were on his, and there went his brain again.

The angel still held one of Crowley's hands, resting on the table. The other hand now drifted to Crowley's knee. Crowley felt weight settle there, wonderfully heavy, as Aziraphale leaned in, in, kissing him, his lips as soft as the rest of him and oh, six thousand and twenty-something years of longing and now _this_...

Aziraphale pulled away, and Crowley chased after him for a half-second before managing to get himself under something resembling control. The angel's voice when he spoke was full of _laughter_, the bastard. "I'm not sure he's falling for it, my dear. He's still not looking this way at all."

"Don't care," Crowley said. "I'll torment him properly later. Get him fired. Something."

He strained forward, trying to catch those lips again, but Aziraphale shifted backwards, eyebrows drawing together. "You _wouldn't_."

"Not — okay, not like _that_, but at the very least the lovely German woman who runs this place is going to hear from me about how he treated one of her best customers."

The eyebrows smoothed out again. "Oh. That would be all right."

Crowley reached out with the hand not still in Aziraphale's, and stroked trembling fingers against the sleeve of the ludicrous coat. "Angel. _Please_."

"Please what?" Aziraphale's eyes twinkled with absolute bloody _wickedness_ as he drew back, sitting up neatly in his chair again. "If there's no need for the charade anymore, then we may as well leave. I'll just have the Donauwelle wrapped up —" letting go of Crowley's hand — "and then perhaps we'll go for a walk —"

Crowley's glasses clattered onto the table. "Oh, you _bastard_," he groaned, and hurled himself into the angel's arms.

He felt gentle hands against his shoulders, weaving into his hair, as he squirmed his own arms around that magnificent waist. Probably Aziraphale's chair wasn't designed to support both their weights, but Crowley was absolutely determined that it would hold up as he half-clambered into the angel's soft lap, so it did.

"Bastard," Crowley said again, but now it was against Aziraphale's lips. "Stupid gorgeous bastard." He felt Aziraphale's mouth form a smile, and he groaned again. "You knew the whole time." Another desperate press of lips. "Whole blessed time."

Aziraphale turned his head, and Crowley took the opportunity to lay a series of kisses on the soft, round, bloody brilliantly pudgy cheek. "I didn't at first. But I — oh!" he exclaimed, and he actually _giggled_ as Crowley nuzzled against his jaw — "I did rather catch on after you said I was, well." He blushed the world's most incredible shade of pink. "Perfect."

Crowley gaped. "I _didn't_."

"You did! When you were explaining the... young fellow's intent."

Another review of what he'd said. Truth, harm, "you're bloody perfect how you are"...

"Auuugh," Crowley announced to the ceiling. "I didn't know I'd actually _said_ it."

"Yes, yes you did," Aziraphale said primly. "Very clearly, too. No mistaking it."

"Perfect bastard."

"Quite."

Crowley allowed himself just a brief squeeze of his hands against Aziraphale's sides, and the sudden hot-and-cold flush all over his body told him that he was going to have to work up to _that_. Unless he wanted to just melt right into goo now and get it over with.

"Mnh. So. Did you enjoy your scones, angel?"

"Oh yes," Aziraphale said, raising his face up to Crowley's again, blue eyes fluttering half-shut.

"Do you want your cake thing?"

"Donauwelle. Not really."

"Kay." He brushed his lips against Aziraphale's, and the angel sighed. "Want to get going?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Do this again tomorrow, maybe?"

The angel pressed forward, a shimmering hum passing from his mouth into Crowley's as their lips made contact, and Crowley nearly slithered to the floor in a boneless heap. Only Aziraphale's hands in his hair kept him grounded. The feel of Aziraphale's round body against him. Of Aziraphale's mouth, warm and wanting against his own.

"Take that as a yes," Crowley panted, when he could.

He stood up carefully, willing his knees to keep doing knee things, and pulled Aziraphale to his feet. One arm slid back around his angel's waist, hand resting against the side of his belly, exactly where Crowley had just now decided it belonged forever. The other hand retrieved his glasses, then raised up to point at the arsehole nephew behind the counter (who was now staring openly) as they walked past.

Crowley stopped and snapped his fingers, freezing the absolute bloody _idiot_ who had dared be rude to his beautiful fat angel. He leaned in with his very sharpest grin. "You're gonna wake from an _awful_ dream," he informed him gleefully, "about whatever you fear the _worst_."

He snapped his fingers again.

"_Crowley_," Aziraphale tried to say, before Crowley interrupted him with a kiss.

They walked out the door together, leaving one white-faced arsehole behind.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second-most-self-indulgent thing I have written in my thirty-eight years upon this earth, and I do not apologize. (The most self-indulgent thing ever will go up on AO3 when I decide I'm ready to let it go free, and if you haunt the Chubby Aziraphale tag here like I do, you may perhaps like it. I refer to it as The One With The Lake on my Tumblr.)
> 
> Thank you for reading! I am too awkward to reply to comments, but if you were already going to leave one, please know that I read and treasure each one, whether it's a copy-pasted line, a keysmash, or whatever.
> 
> If you want to say hi on Tumblr, I'm [ineffablefool](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com) there, too (and I will probably actually reply). It's mostly just reblogs of Good Omens things that I want to keep around, but there's [original GO-related content](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-original-post) here and there (some of which is about WIPs!).
> 
> Also, for the record, it is my _dream_ that someday some artist likes one of my fics enough to draw something from it, so if you want to do that then I will absolutely kermitflail from happiness. I have only one request: please don't draw Aziraphale any thinner than speremint does (here's those reference links again: ([1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([2](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186227834150/i-just-need-more-chonky-aziraphale-will)) ([3](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186401300745/only-one-1-person-asked-me-my-opinions-on-a-role) and [4](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my) from her Reversed Omens AU)). Otherwise, the characters can look however you like!


End file.
